Fin found Brando rummaging through and organizing crates of provisions, weapons, and tools in the room.

"I'm glad you're here," Brando stated, removing a burlap sack and a leather bundle from one of the crates. "Can you make all of this disappear?"

"What is all of this?" Fin asked, gingerly approaching the hoard of random supplies.

Brando pointed to bags, crates, and bundles, in turn describing the contents of each. "Meat, vegetables, and some spare weapons for when we get to goblin town. More mining supplies. Oh, I splurged and got some new leather working tools for myself. My old ones are nowhere near this quality. It will also help me put a good grip on the hammer. Are you sure you want to use it? Marriam did say it would break. Probably not against goblins, but why risk it?"

"It's a magic weapon, and it gives a strength boost of twenty," Fin said, unstowing the hammer. "And it's not a forgery. This is the real thing. Whoever Gladrohm was, this was his hammer. It's not going to break."

"Twenty what?" Brando asked, taking the hammer skeptically. "I don't feel stronger."

"Twenty points of strength," Fin shrugged. "I don't know exactly what that equates to, but it's more strength than I've gained since we've met. I think I'm going to learn how to use it."

"Easy, just hit them with one of the ends. Like this," Brando made a few example swings. On his final swing, he failed to stop the hammer's momentum in time before it struck a wooden crate. The crate exploded into a million splinters, spilling bags of potatoes everywhere.

Brando winced as the room fell into abrupt silence. "I'll fix that grip tonight."

"I'll start stowing all of this," Fin said and then remembered something important. "Just one thing, before I forget…."

* Human

* Flavor varies.

"What?" Brando asked.

Fin shook his head. "If we ever run into a dragon, I'm just going to kill it."

The next day, they visited the armor smith, as usual, but they didn't bring their customary lunch box full of golden nuggets this time. Olhoff had become their unofficial banker. He would take their gold, melt it into uniform bars, and was more than happy to keep it locked away for a fee. This pleased Fin because it kept it out of Void's untrustworthy care. Brando didn't seem to care about the gold as much as he cared for good food and clothing that featured horses.

"Ah, I'm glad you're here," Olhoff said, wiping soot off his face and replacing his monocle. "I think I fixed the arm joints. I need you to wear the armor and wave your arms around."

"Actually, I was hoping we could just take whatever you have and head out," Fin said reluctantly, knowing that Olhoff would not agree.

"What?!" Olhoff demanded, monocle hanging taut against its chain.

"We're almost done; why would you want to stop now?"

Fin sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Marriam Dunkle seems to think I owe her something, and I suspect that she's going to make life difficult if I don't go along with her."

Tory had entered the room and offered, "You probably want to sneak out at night. I can smuggle you out in a hay cart, but it will have to wait until tomorrow."

"What did you do?" Olhoff asked with disappointment in his voice.

"It's a long story," Fin said, unstowing the hammer behind his back – like it wouldn't be noticeable – and showed the two smiths. "Her grandfather bought…"

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“The Gladrohm Hammer!” Olhoff said, hands twitching to reach for it.

"That's a cool trick," Tory complimented. "Can you teach me that sometime?"

"Uh, yeah," Fin said, handing the hammer to Olhoff. "What's the story with this thing anyway?"

Olhoff looked over the hammer, which was as long as he was tall. "Some historians noticed that three famous warlords from three different eras all had the same looking hammer. Some believe it's the same one. It's named after the first of them – Gladrohm the Wyvern Slayer. I see the rumors are true; this is too light to be the real one. I like the grip on it, though. I've never seen this pattern before."

Before Brando could brag about his craftsmanship, Fin asked, "Is it lighter than Tory?"

Olhoff was old but not too old to decline a challenge. He grabbed his apprentice by the back of the shirt and hefted him off the ground with one hand. Tory howled in surprise and then let out a string of insults and curses when he was bobbed up and down in the weighing process. Olhoff ignored the insults, and Brando nearly fell over with laughter.

"This can't be right," Olhoff said, confused. "I know I've been feeding you well enough, but you're as light as a baby."

"Put me down, you old coot!" Tory yelled.

"May I?" Fin asked, gently taking the hammer from the old coot. Tory's feet immediately touched the ground as Olhoff's strength gave out. He tried lifting his apprentice again but couldn't. Fin gave him back the hammer, and Tory lifted it off the ground with a curse.

"By Loden, what is this?!" Olhoff exclaimed, dropping Tory and looking at the hammer as if for the first time. "Is this some kind of magic weapon? Is this the real hammer of Gladrohm?!"

Olhoff talked about the history of the hammer while he and Tory dressed Fin and Brando in their respective suits of armor. Fin's set was considerably more decorated than Brando's, even though it was made by an apprentice and not the master himself. The detail and craftsmanship of the armor, paired with the dark circles around Tory's eyes, was enough to know that a considerable amount of time was put into it. A gold trim was around some leading edges, and a gold-etched dragon was on the breastplate, with gold-etched fire streaming out of its mouth. Then, because Tory was romantic, eccentric, or both, he attached a cape to Fin's shoulders through several ribbed spikes.

Brando looked at Fin's armor with jealousy. His armor was basic, metal-looking, and boring. There wasn't even a horse on it. Yes, it had enough functionality, would keep him alive, and even made him look intimidating. He would look like a warlord in his own right if it was just him. However, standing next to Fin's armor, he looked like the warlord's scribe.

They moved their arms around, bent their knees, and stepped in different directions to test out the joints in the armor. The well-oiled joints moved smoothly in every direction.

"It feels good," Fin said, rotating his arm soundlessly around. "I think we'll take them today."

"What? No!" It was Tory's turn to protest. "I still need to finish decorating your helmet and polish everything!"

"It's okay; we don't need anything decorated or polished," Brando said, not wanting Fin's armor to look any better than it did already. "We're just going to get them dirty. Besides, I think we should get used to wearing them before fighting in them."

"That is true," Olhoff said, handing them a small brown sack and two sets of light brown clothes each. "I was going to tell you to wear them as much as possible to break them in. Wear them while you do mundane things until your body gets used to the extra weight. Do not take them into the mines; if you get dirt in the joints, don't come crawling back to me to clean them out. The most important thing to know is not to run while you are in battle. You'll survive as long as you have the energy to fight and wring yourself out too fast if you run. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Master Olhoff," Fin and Brando said in unison as if they had been trained.

"Good. Now, I was going to going to polish this first, but seeing how you tall folk don't have enough sense for polishing your armor, I'll give it to you now," Olhoff reached behind the counter and took out a large helmet with a square nose guard and a square mohawk that curved toward the backside into a point. It was exquisitely designed to incite fear in the hearts on the battlefield.

Brando took it with metal-clad fingers. "This is beautiful, I don't know what to say. Thank you."

Olhoff blushed. "I got some help with it. A true master knows how to ask for help."

Fin was eager to see his own helmet. "Where's mine?"

Tory's eyes snapped up. "It's not done yet. Can you wait until tomorrow?"

Olhoff then brought a crossbow from behind the corner and pointed it at Fin's chest. "How about a demonstration, as promised?"

Tory nearly leaped to stand in front of Fin and held out his hands to stop him. "No! If you want a demonstration, shoot your own armor!"

The tip of Olhoff's bolt rotated until it stopped in front of Brando. "Brace yourself, lad."

Before Brando had time to protest, the crossbow clicked, and the sharp metallic twang of a bolt ricocheted off his body and splintered into a shower of little pieces. His heart nearly came to a stop, and he let out a gasp of surprise.

"I've already taken the payment for the armor out of your personal supply," Olhoff said nonchalantly, replacing the crossbow behind the desk. "Do you want to take your gold now or pick it up tomorrow when you return for the helmet?"